


De Integro

by brevitas



Series: Leader of the Muses [11]
Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Greek Gods AU, M/M, Modern AU
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-03-16
Packaged: 2017-12-05 12:37:21
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/723388
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brevitas/pseuds/brevitas
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras struggles to adjust to a practical stranger; Grantaire has a nightmare, and remembers enough that he goes to Apollo for comfort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	De Integro

Enjolras teleports directly to the kitchen and barely has time to straighten his rumpled shirt before Grantaire wakes up (he's just noticed that the sleeves are darkened with blood--with a frown he quickly changes to a clean white tee, and forcefully forgets the reminder). He tries not to watch when Grantaire's soul comes back but it's difficult not to; even as a god, he's awestruck when Grantaire's body shudders and his chest hitches, breath catching in his throat. His pulse is loud in the room and Enjolras counts it while Grantaire stirs, tentatively fluttering open his eyes.

"Hey," he croaks, and Enjolras smiles because he feels like he's on the edge of lunacy and if he stops and thinks about this now he'll lose any semblance of sanity he has left.

He watches Grantaire stretch out, exploring his body like it's alien to him, stroking open palms down the length of his sides with a hum. He's comfortably sitting up when Jehan materializes in the doorway and Grantaire starts--to him, the flowered man appeared between one blink and the next.

"You did it!" He shouts and flings himself at Grantaire like an enthusiastic puppy, nearly bowling his friend over. Grantaire, who has no idea who he is and can only fathom that they like each other (judging by this exuberant greeting), awkwardly pats him on the back.

"Hello," he greets warily, and Jehan cuddles up against him, burying his face against his throat. The poet is already a very tactile person and after nearly losing Grantaire all he wants to do is touch him, to confirm that he's real. He doesn't even shy away from the blood that's still damp on Grantaire's stomach, sticking what remains of his torn shirt to his skin.

Enjolras lingers by the cupboards, looking morose, and is trying to decide how to phrase this so as to break Jehan's heart as little as possible when the rest of the Amis come in. They have all felt Grantaire's return much like they'd felt his death; a sudden flooding of heat in an otherwise cold breath and the innate knowledge that Dionysus has returned to their realm.

They crowd him and Grantaire is gracious about it, tolerating everybody touching him, smiling at those that ruffle his hair or, like Courfeyrac, kiss him on the forehead. But he keeps glancing at Enjolras while everyone checks him over, and he looks like he's desperately trying to broadcast to him some sort of telepathic message to send help (oh god, can he not even remember what he _is_? What he's capable of?) so Enjolras steps in.

He shoos everybody a few steps back and Grantaire hangs his legs over the edge of the table, plucking at his ruined shirt absentmindedly. "So," he begins, tugging the wet material off with a _squelch_ when he decides it's too far gone to bother with. "This place sure is a sausage fest."

The Amis' expression range from amused to puzzled, and Jehan looks worriedly at Enjolras because he knew something was off about Grantaire just from the hesitant way he was hugging him.

"What happened?" He asks in the silence, and Grantaire doesn't answering because he doesn't know either.

Enjolras pinches the last of his lucidity and takes a deep breath. "Grantaire drank of Lethe."

The Amis look stunned; Jehan looks like he's about to cry. "So... he doesn't remember? _Anything_?"

They all turn to Grantaire, who's kicking his feet and watching them curiously. He doesn't seem to understand why everybody looks so depressed, and tilts his head at the way Jehan is looking at him.

"No," Enjolras says, becaue Grantaire can't remember what he's forgotten and he can't plausibly answer this one himself. "Nothing."

Everyone knows what this means--they've all seen the relationship between the pair grow and change and, in the recent weeks, bloom into something fierce and strong. Enjolras, who rarely takes lovers, who believes humans should be free but at his worst sees them as inferior, who has little care for sex or courting, had finally allowed someone to weasel their way in and had been hurt for his trouble.

"What do we do?" Courfeyrac asks, stealing another glance at Grantaire (who recognizes that they're talking about him, but apparently doesn't mind).

"I suppose we should figure out if anything will come back, or at least find the extent of the damage." They all nod to agree and it's Jehan who turns to Grantaire.

"Are you ready to go back to your room?" He asks softly, like he's addressing a child. "I can show you where you sleep."

Grantaire looks at Enjolras and pauses--he's not afraid of Jehan, nowhere close (and who could be? Today his hair is crowned with pansies) but he seems almost wistful when he follows the poet out.

+++++

When Grantaire was only a hundred years old he began having nightmares. They were gruesome things and seemed unfounded and Grantaire suffered terribly; he was new to Olympus and much too proud to admit that he was being haunted.

It was Enjolras who remarked on the dark smudges under his eyes and the pallor of his skin a few weeks in and rather than getting snapped at for it Grantaire had only said, "I'm just tired."

That night Enjolras had opened his door and leaned in and saw him trapped in a nightmare, his hands fisted in the sheets and his back arched. Enjolras barely knew him (at that time they could scarcely even stomach one another) but Grantaire was his brother and he would not leave him to suffer alone. He dragged in an extra blanket and lay down beside him, and over the next few years this habitually continued.

Grantaire eventually told him that the nightmares had gone away (mostly they had, but he'd also grown to resent the torture of laying alongside Enjolras every night and being unable to touch him) and they stopped sharing a bed. Occassionally, when Grantaire had nightmares still, he would crawl in with Enjolras and they would curl up together, Enjolras willingly offering companionship against his personal demons.

It's been a while since this has happened but not so long that Enjolras has forgotten so when he wakes to his door easing open he merely smiles to himself and scoots over. Half-asleep as he is it doesn't even occur to him that this is new Grantaire, and new Grantaire doesn't understand what they had.

But apparently some part of him remembers because he lays down at Enjolras' back and wraps himself around him, sliding one hand under his head and setting the other on his stomach. It's warm and familiar and Enjolras settles against him; it's only when Grantaire slides his hand under Enjolras' shirt and splays out his calloused palm that he reacts at all.

He betrays that he's awake by the surprised whoosh of air and then Grantaire is pulling back, rescinding the contact hurriedly, mumbling, "Sorry," while he tries to head to the door. He doesn't know what he's doing--he doesn't even _know_ Enjolras, and coming in here at all was foolish.

He's stayed by the hand that clamps his wrist and is pulled gracelessly to a stop, looking back at Enjolras, half-sitting up and clutching his arm like it's the last solid thing he has. "Wait," he says and Grantaire stops pulling, allows himself to be guided back to the mattress. He sits down gingerly and Enjolras loosens his grip but doesn't let go.

"Did you have a nightmare?" He's whispering, and the dark interior of the room feels intimate. Grantaire stares cautiously at him but eventually nods.

"You can sleep here if you'd like." He lets go of his wrist only then, smiling a bit when he inclines his head towards the two pillows at the top of the bed. "There's plenty of room."

Grantaire nods again and they lay back down, but this time he doesn't touch Enjolras, and maintains a careful distance between them. Enjolras rolls over and looks at him in the dark, reaches out and softly touches his hand. Grantaire turns his over and Enjolras threads their fingers together, aches a bit over how perfectly their palms fit.

It's a long time after when Grantaire speaks; Enjolras thought he was sleeping and opens his eyes in the dark when he hears him say, "Enjolras?"

He hums a reply and Grantaire starts to rub a rough thumb against his knuckle, a restless tic. He's quiet again but Enjolras waits, and finally he says, "I'm sorry."

Enjolras frowns. "For what?"

"I, uh... saw some of my paintings." Enjolras knows the ones he's talking about, the dozens Grantaire made that are apparently wildly inappropriate (and he still hasn't seen them, he realizes). "I think I was in love with you."

Enjolras closes his eyes and his throat constricts just to hear that past tense; _was_. Old Grantaire _was_ in love with Enjolras and new Grantaire has nothing for him but apologies. He takes a minute to breathe and sounds mild when he answers. "It's not your fault you've forgotten."

Grantaire nods and stills his hand when he asks tentatively, "Was I?"

Enjolras doesn't have time to think--it's a reflex when he says, "Yes." And then, subdued, "You were."

They're both quiet afterward, and when Grantaire wakes up in the morning Enjolras is already gone. He tries not to be too disappointed, reminds himself that neither of them really know each other, and rolls over to go back to sleep.

+++++

"He came in and _slept_ with you?" Sensitive material is Jehan's specialty so Enjolras has come to him, sitting on a bench in his garden while Jehan digs out weeds. He'd given up on it, however, at the first thing Enjolras had said.

Jehan is kneeling but now sits back, crossing his legs in front of him. "And what happened?"

Enjolras shrugs, picking mullishly at a dandelion Jehan had plucked. "Nothing. He was sorry that he couldn't remember me, and that was really it."

"But how did he remember to go to your room?" Jehan packs down some disrupted soil between his knees--he always think better when he's doing something. "How did he even know where your room _was_?"

"I don't know." Honestly Enjolras hadn't thought about it; he'd been so surprised that Grantaire had come at all that he hadn't even considered how he got there. "Maybe he checked a few rooms before he got to mine."

"Or maybe his feet remember." Jehan looks up, smiling. "He's walked to your room hundreds of time before--the route's probably etched into his mind."

If that was true then it would mean that Lethe had taken all his surface memories but not the emotions beneath, and that is more than Enjolras had even hoped for. He feels a bit more chipper upon hearing this, but then realizes he doesn't have any plausible way to ask Grantaire himself.

"Maybe you should ask him what all he remembers," he suggests to Jehan, who tilts his head curiously. "I think he likes you."

He'd followed him to his bedroom the night before, after all, and Jehan had actually ended up staying for a few hours getting him settled in. He was Grantaire's best friend back when he knew who he was so it stands to reason that the same could be accomplished now (since current Grantaire just reminds Enjolras painfully of how he'd been when he was young, full of spirit and compassion and quite similar to Jehan--and he had not been the only one to notice that Grantaire had barely even _looked_ at a bottle).

"Alright." Jehan wipes dirt off his palms and stands, smiles a bit. "I'll go see what I can ferret out."

He finds Grantaire in the library, which is possibly why it takes him so long. "I didn't even _think_ to look in here the first time I walked by," he says when he comes in, laughing. "You don't come in here a lot."

Grantaire looks up at him and shakes his head. "No wonder," he replies, replacing a book on the shelf. "This room sucks."

They decide to go out on the balcony instead, so Grantaire can smoke. "I found these in my room," he admits when they close the doors behind them. He's leaning on the railing, twirling the cigarette with two fingers. "I didn't even remember I liked them."

"You don't smoke all too often." Jehan sits on one of the chairs out there, strethcing his legs out. "They were probably for Feuilly, considering the brand."

It's difficult remembering that this is all alien to Grantaire, that he hadn't even gotten everybody's names last night and had successfully secluded himself so far this morning. He nods, but he doesn't know who Feuilly is, and Jehan feels bad bringing it up.

He clears his throat and folds his hands across his stomach. "We used to be really good friends," he says, and Grantaire turns to look at him, breathing smoke out his nose. "You're the one that came up with my origin myth for the mortals, when I refused to."

Grantaire chuckles. "Which one are you again?"

He's barely finished saying, "Persephone," when Grantaire laughs.

"I love that story," he says. "That took me a long time to settle on, you know--I had loads of other ideas first."

Jehan is staring at him and he balks, but then they both realize what he just said. "You _remember_?" He asks sharply, startled.

"Well, not all of it," he says with a stubborn frown. "I think I remember betting someone that I could do better, and then writing the story but I wouldn't have been able to say that it was about you, and it feels more like a dream than a memory."

"That's good," Jehan says delightedly. "Maybe other things will come back too."

Grantaire vaguely nods, taking a drag off his cigarette and trying to think of what else he can recall. Jehan watches him without interruption and prays that he'll start remembering Enjolras soon because he simply cannot fathom what the blonde might do without his Dionysus at all.

**Author's Note:**

> and here is the promised LOTM update for all my lovelies, I hope you guys like this chapter? writing confused R is quickly becoming my favorite thing, I must admit
> 
> title means "repeat again from the start", which I thought was suiting!
> 
> big important note -- I've stopped tagging this with all the junk like I used to and now am just doing a chapter-by-chapter sort of tagging like I do with my other AU's, just a heads-up; I still want to do more with everybody else but as of right now this is really just e/r centric, sorry folks but I do not wish to mislead anyone
> 
> tumblr is idfaciendumest :)


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